Why Dave Chappelle Should've Never Come Back

Dave Chappelle is back. Eight years after walking away from his megahit Comedy Central sketch show and some $50 million and taking a self-described "spiritual retreat" to South Africa and hunkering down on his farm in southwestern Ohio, the stand-up legend — deemed the heir to Richard Pryor by Pryor's own widow — is once again prowling the stage, as the headliner of Funny or Die's 15-city Oddball Comedy and Curiosity Festival. And the rejoicing is near unanimous. The New York Times: "Mr. Chappelle might have left television, but that departure has become the wellspring of his comedy now. He only needs a microphone and a stage to lay claim to greatness." Entertainment Weekly: "[T]here was such a shared sense of gratitude between performer and audience. When he said, 'I missed you guys more than you missed me,' you kind of believed him. Welcome back Dave." Even Prince joined the lovefest, using an image of Chappelle-in-Prince-drag for the cover of his new single.

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But I wish Dave Chappelle would stay away.

It's not because I don't think he's a brilliant writer and comedian. His skit about African-American white supremacist Clayton Bigsby should be taught alongside Swift's A Modest Proposal in the satire portion of college English Lit survey courses. Yet when he so drastically departed show business in 2005, he became more than a comedian. It was a powerful personal protest, a middle finger to our superficial, celebrity-obsessed, money-driven culture. Sure, it wasn't Muhammad Ali evading the Vietnam War draft and being banned from boxing for three years — but it was about as powerful a statement as a celebrity could make in our conscription-free era. "You know why my show is good?" he told an unruly crowd who kept shouting his catchphrase "I'm Rick James, bitch!" at a 2004 Sacramento stand-up gig, just a few months before Chappelle's Show halted production. "Because the network officials say you're not smart enough to get what I'm doing, and every day I fight for you. I tell them how smart you are. Turns out I was wrong. You people are stupid." He was right. His unflinching commentaries on race and drugs and class were mostly lost on us. We weren't ready to hear what he had to say. And in light of the George Zimmerman verdict, it would seem we still aren't.

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Culture needs basket cases and shut-ins and recluses — those artists and personalities who say screw it and abscond with their talent in its prime. They keep things honest. They expose the soulless entertainment industrial complex for what it really is. They prove that human existence isn't defined by notoriety or fame and reaffirm that there's more to who we are than what we do or how much we earn.

Of course, few recluses stay that way for good. Inevitably, Harper Lee writes an essay for Oprah. Bobby Fischer faces off against Boris Spassky one more time. Barry Sanders resurfaces to promote Madden 25. Cat Stevens records as Yusuf Islam. Even the late J.D. Salinger, whom Chappelle has frequently been compared to these past few years: This weekend, it was revealed that there are purportedly five new Salinger books on the way, which the author asked to be published after his death.

Dave Chappelle couldn't stay on his farm forever — just a little while longer. His brief absence was a more trenchant critique of current society than anything he might say onstage.